He took his leave, and Emmaline finally settled into her comfortable seat beside Lieutenant Jones.
Jones greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. “My lady.” He motioned to the empty spot beside his bed. “What did you bring?” He nodded to the bundle in her hands.
Emmaline flashed him a smile. She found peace in being with the men here who were a bit rough around the edges and had the false edge of Society’s veneer dusted free. It was refreshing.
“Byron?” She opened the volume and fanned through several pages before settling on, “The Lady”.
“Are you anyone’s lady, my lady?” Jones interrupted.
The brazen question caused Emmaline to stumble in her recitation.
Jones smiled broadly, displaying a row of crooked teeth. It had been three weeks since he’d first smiled and spoken to her, and yet Emmaline was still startled by the transformation of the soldier she’d known for three years.
“Easy enough question,” he teased.
Emmaline troubled her lower lip. Yes, for most it was an easy enough question. She chose to break with the strictures on what merited appropriate discussion. “I’m betrothed,” she said at last.
His brow wrinkled and he shoved himself up with his only elbow. “So you’ve got yourself a gentleman?”
She managed a small smile. “I’ve got myself a gentleman.” Unused to speaking freely about her betrothal to Lord Drake, she hesitated. “He was a soldier. He also fought on the Peninsula.”
Jones’ eyes widened the same way she imagined they would if she’d proclaimed diamonds were falling from the sky.
“You’re marrying yourself a soldier?”
“I am.” Or she was supposed to. She couldn’t go and explain the complicated aspects of her and Drake’s relationship.
Jones gave an approving nod. It seemed she’d risen even more in the man’s estimation.
He whistled between his teeth. “You found yourself a fancy bloke who fought in the war, too? Not many lords were giving their lives, my lady.”
Not many of them had been running away from a childhood betrothal, either. “No, no they weren’t.”
Sensing Jones was far more curious than any time in the three years she’d known him, she decided to share this personal piece of herself. “He is the Marquess of Drake, he fought—”
The man’s shocked gasp cut into her words. “Lord Drake is your gentleman?”
Emmaline blinked, unprepared that this man should know him. She leaned forward in her chair. “Did you know of him?”
“Know of him? I served under him,” he said, his eyes round with amazement. “My battalion was hit hard. We lost our commanding officer. The captain was given control of our battalion.” His eyes took on a far-off quality that suggested he was seeing things Emmaline didn’t want to see. “He’s a hero.”
Yes, Drake was a hero. She’d read that in every last smattering of articles she’d collected on his accomplishments. How funny this stranger should truly know, firsthand, what Drake had seen and done.
She continued to aggravate her lower lip. “W-what was he like?”
Jones didn’t respond right away. Instead he studied Emmaline with a near overwhelming intensity.
This time it was her turn to try and tamp down the awkwardness brought on by the conversation.
How odd to finally realize the discomfiture she must have caused Jones with her probing questions these past years.
“He’s a good man,” Jones said quietly.
“Yes.” That wasn’t really the bit of undisclosed information she’d been seeking from Lieutenant Jones.
He must have suspected as much. “After the Battle of Salamanca, the French left Madrid and Wellington marched us into the city.” Lieutenant Jones glanced down at his hands. “He left three divisions to guard the capital and then marched the rest of us to Burgos. The captain led us in that march. We came to a scorched field. There was this mangy pup. Emaciated thing. All bones. Whimpering. A step from death. Literally.” He tried to grin but it failed, resembling more of a twisted grimace.
Emmaline thought to the well-nourished, loving hunting dogs and pugs her family had over the years. Then she tried to envision the poor, neglected creature described by Jones. Her heart hurt for the poor little fellow.
“As we marched, that mangy dog followed the captain’s horse until the captain drew his horse to a halt, and scooped up the flea-ridden creature. He nursed that old dog back to health. Gave the dog half of his own rations. Ate right out of the captain’s plate, he did. Drank his water.” He shook his head, as if still dumbfounded. “Never would have imagined a fancy lord would share food from his own plate with a filthy dog. Named him Valiant. That dog followed him everywhere. There wasn’t much to laugh about then, but we used to laugh about it.”
Emmaline’s heart hitched.
God help her, she loved Drake. She loved him with a desperation that made her want to fling down the book and run out of the hospital and find him.
She tried to imagine Drake riding beside some of the men here in the hospital, bantering back and forth. He was such a proud man. So very serious. Emmaline couldn’t reconcile the Drake she’d come to know with the one being described by Jones. “I imagine Lord Drake was not pleased with the ribbing he received?”
Jones slashed his one hand through the air. “Aww, he took it all in good humor. Men respected him for that. You know, being able to laugh at himself and all.”
Emmaline sat back in her chair. “I don’t understand why he didn’t return with Valiant….” Her words trailed off when Jones looked away.
“Lieutenant?” she asked hesitantly.
Jones remained silent.
Don’t do it, she willed herself. Don’t ask.
She had to know what happened to Valiant. It was a piece that explained what had transformed Drake into the very serious man who was now unable to laugh with ease or sincerity. “What happened to Valiant?”
Jones looked away with a sad shake of his head. “Not a story fit for a lady’s ears.” He also clearly respected Lady Emmaline too much not to share with her what he knew, because he sighed and continued. “After we were forced into retreat, Wellington spent the winter reorganizing the forces. Whenever there was a battle, Captain Drake would find a tree far from the battle, and tie that dog up. Battle of Vitoria was a big one.” It had been the one that ultimately crumpled Napoleon’s forces in Spain. “We were in some serious hand-to-hand combat with the Frenchies. That dog, my lady, must have known his master was going to need him, because he gnawed through those ropes and wandered amidst the battlefield with that chewed rope still bound around his neck, searching everywhere for the Cap’n.”
Emmaline’s eyes slid closed as she battled back a wave of pain. She loathed the question stuck on the tip of her tongue. “Did he find him?”
Intuitively she knew that he had.
Jones nodded again. “Found him fighting two Frenchie bastards. Pardon, my lady,” he hurried. Red infused his cheeks.
“Fine, fine.” She felt the same way about the men who’d tried to kill Drake. She urged him on, needing to hear, needing to know.
Jones went on. “That dog,”
Valiant, she silently corrected. His name was Valiant.
“Launched himself at one of the bas—uh, Frenchies, who had his knife at the captain’s throat. Grabbed onto his leg and bit, tearing at the man’s breeches. It allowed Captain Drake to…, to…take care of the other man. But the other fellow, well, he grabbed that rope and wrenched that dog’s neck. Broke it just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Emmaline’s eyes slid closed as she imagined Drake standing there, fighting for his life, and seeing his faithful companion killed in front of him.
Just like that.
Chapter 20
My Dearest Drake,
I think it unfair I cannot have a dog of my choice. When we are married, you have to promise me we might have a dog and that I may choose its breed. I th
ink I should like a Shetland Sheepdog….perhaps we can even have some sheep.
Ever Yours,
Emmaline
Drake strode down the pavement ignoring the curious stares and whispers being directed his way by the lords and ladies who strolled down the street. His Hessian boots drew to an immediate, jarring halt when he reached his destination. With purpose, he stomped up the townhouse steps, and tucked the wriggling bundle of fur into the crook of his left elbow.
He slammed the knocker with his right hand, while holding onto the four-pound devil in his opposite arm. The pup sunk razor like teeth into the flesh of his fingers until Drake winced as a hot trickle of blood dotted his flesh.
Drake raised his fist to again pound the wood panel when the door opened.
He fished a calling card out of his pocket around the squirming mass and handed it to the blank-faced butler. “Lord Drake to see His Grace.”
The staid man studied the card, and then peered down a hawk-like nose at the yapping pup. He wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. “Right this way.” He turned, as if expecting Drake to follow.
Drake was ushered into the Duke of Mallen’s library.
Mallen lifted his eyes from the papers he had been studying but didn’t bother to rise. “Drake, this is a surprise.” His tone said it was not a happy one.
“Mallen.” He set the pup on the floor and the little beast set to work chewing the edge of Drake’s boots. He winced. “Your sister sent me a dog.”
Mallen’s head quirked to the side. “A dog?”
Said dog scrambled up onto one of the two leather-winged chairs facing the Duke of Mallen’s enormous desk, and yapped at the befuddled peer.
“The pup seems to be a good judge of character,” Drake drawled beneath his breath.
Mallen’s brows converged in one, annoyed line. “Your dog is going to destroy my chair.”
Drake glanced down to see the mangy beast who was using all his energy to dig a hole through the surface of the leather. “It’s not my dog.”
Mallen shoved his seat back, scraping the dark wood of the floor, and stood. “You barge into my home with...”
The door opened and the Duchess of Mallen sailed into the room which sliced into Mallen’s scathing diatribe. “Lord Drake, how very good to see you.” A smile wreathed her ageless face.
“Always a pleasure and honor.” Drake’s attempt at politeness was ruined by the dog that jumped off the chair and ambled back over to him. The mangy thing stood on hind legs and began to scratch at the fabric of Drake’s breeches.
“If that were true, I’d imagine we’d see you more frequently, Drake.” She glanced down at the puppy and let out a sound of happy surprise. “Oh, you’ve brought your dog.”
Drake sighed. “He’s not my dog.”
She either failed to hear him or chose to ignore his response, for in a very un-duchess-like move, the Duchess of Mallen went down on a knee and called the scruffy black dog over. The puppy yapped, and proceeded to run in circles around her. “My, you are full of energy,” she cooed, occasionally landing a pat.
The pup eventually tired of his game, and instead of sitting for the duchess, returned to Drake and plopped down atop his boots. The creature’s eyes fluttered heavily, before he emitted a contented sigh, and fell into a deep, snoring slumber.
The duchess gracefully rose and crossed over to Drake. She claimed his hands in hers and leaned up to kiss him on each cheek. “It really is wonderful to see you, Drake. How is your father?”
Drake had been raised a gentleman and was therefore able to momentarily forget the four-pound reason for his visit.
“He is well, Your Grace, thank you for asking.”
She rang for refreshments. “I must say, I’m thrilled to see you, but surely there must be some other reason for your visit?” She softened the searching question with a wide smile.
Drake started. It was Emmaline’s smile.
Mallen reclaimed his leather seat and motioned to the puppy. “He’s come to tattle on Emmaline.”
The duchess blinked in confusion, wide hazel eyes moving from her son to Drake.
“I did not come to tattle.” Drake shuffled on his feet, momentarily displacing the pup. The beast was a resolute one, for he climbed right back up onto his perch and gave what Drake swore was a disapproving look. Great now the dog is put out with me as well.
Mallen smiled. “Oh good, then. He came to thank Emmaline.”
Before Drake could disabuse him of the notion, Mallen rang again. “Have Lady Emmaline summoned immediately,” he said to the servant who entered the room.
The servant bowed and hurried to do the duke’s bidding.
“Of all the preposterous things,” Drake said under his breath, shifting the dog from his feet.
The pup’s eyes flew open at being jarred, but then he gave a high-pitched yap and found a renewed burst of energy. He began running circles around Drake, who momentarily followed him with his eyes before getting dizzy, and forced himself to look away from the pup’s display.
“Did you call me preposterous?” Mallen snapped.
“Why yes, I did.”
Mallen’s chest puffed out. “Don’t call me preposterous.”
“I’ll not take orders from…”
The Duchess of Mallen clapped her hands together once, then twice. “Gentlemen, please. Remember you are men.” She focused an overly long, disapproving look on Drake.
He resented being made to feel in the wrong. Noble young ladies did not, under any circumstances, send gifts to unmarried gentlemen—even if they were betrothed to the gentleman. It simply wasn’t done. This, however, hadn’t simply been a gift. Why, she’d sent round a dog.
You didn’t send someone a dog. You just…well, you just didn’t do it.
Emmaline sailed into the room. “You wanted m—” Her glance alighted on Drake and an enchanting smile wreathed her face. “Oh, hello, my lord!”
He bowed. “My lady.”
She wore that same silly, straw wide-brimmed hat she had worn in the gardens. The same one he’d torn from her head and tossed to the ground before he…
Her whiskey-colored eyes fell to the black pup. The little devil jumped at Drake’s legs again, clearly asking to be picked up.
“You’ve met him! Isn’t he precious? Aren’t you precious?” she said in a high singsong voice. She gracefully sank to her knees, sending her pale blue skirts fluttering, similar to the way the duchess had moments ago.
Only this time, thank God, the infernal beast went gladly over. Emmaline scooped him up and allowed him to lap her face with his rough, pink tongue. Lucky fellow.
“Aren’t you sweet? Do you like your new master? I’m sure he’s taking wonderful care of you.”
Drake blinked several times. Why did he feel as though he’d stepped on the stage of a great farcical comedy of which he was the lead actor but didn’t know his lines?
“Lord Drake has come to say thank you, Emmaline,” Mallen called from behind his desk. His expression indicated he was enjoying the exchange far more than Drake.
“No, I haven’t. I have come to return him,” Drake bit out. As if understanding those hurtful words, the black puppy whimpered and flipped onto his back, sidling back and forth on the Aubusson carpet.
“Never say you are displeased with the little fellow.” Mallen pressed a hand to his chest in feigned astonishment.
“I wouldn’t say I am pleased with him,” Drake snapped.
Emmaline’s smile faded like the sun dropping from the horizon to usher in the night sky. “You cannot return Sir Faithful. Poor Sir Faithful.” She went over to the crestfallen pup and scratched his tummy. “Mean Lord Drake has hurt your feelings. Nasty, nasty man.”
Just then a tray of refreshments was delivered and set on the table at the corner of the room. Mallen chuckled. “Ahh, perfect! Refreshments to accompany this show.”
Drake glared at the other man and then Emmaline’s words registered. A loud guffaw sprung from h
is lips. “Sir Faithful? Surely you jest? You have named the creature Sir Faithful?”
Emmaline climbed to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “There is nothing funny about his name.”
Drake took a step forward. “No, there is nothing funny about his name. There is everything funny about his name.”
Drake rolled his shoulders and looked helplessly to the duchess and Mallen. Finding no help there, he jabbed a finger in Emmaline’s direction. “Nor for that matter can you go about simply naming other people’s dogs.”
“I thought you weren’t keeping him,” Mallen pointed out.
“Be quiet.”
Drake, Emmaline, and the Duchess of Mallen ordered in unison.
Mallen crossed the room and scanned the array of sweets artfully arranged on the tray, before settling on a cherry tart. He took two bites and then popped the remainder into his mouth. “So much for being one of the most powerful peers in the realm. I don’t even have power in my own library,” he muttered around a mouthful of treat.
The duchess folded her hands and looked from Emmaline to Lord Drake, a contemplative gleam in her eyes that Drake didn’t like in the least. Apparently smoothing over conflict was inherent in a mother’s nature.
“Emmaline, my dear, I’m afraid Lord Drake is correct. You cannot simply give him a dog. Especially if he doesn’t want it.”
Emmaline shot a look of hurt betrayal at the duchess, and Drake thought she might stick her tongue out at him.
The duchess turned to Drake. “And you, Lord Drake, it is hardly gentlemanly to return a gift.”
Emmaline’s expression turned victorious, and he gritted his teeth.
Drake could handle one small duchess. He inclined his head, his tone solemn. “Your Grace, you are indeed correct. It is an unpardonable affront to reject any gift. That was never my intention. I simply cannot bring this dog into my home.”
Emmaline and Mallen emitted matching snorts at his flowery speech.
Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride Page 14
